Excerpt from Imprisoned at 13

By

Robert Clark

©2019 Robert Clark. All rights reserved. Reproduced with permission from the author.

Chapter 1
What is Prison Life?

Prison life. I would describe it like being in a world of pity and self-pity. The moods of everyone, staff and inmates, are anger and bitterness. Maybe a little humor occasionally. Prison is so boring, constant noise, buzzers and bells, the repeated slamming of doors, clicking locks. It’s a daily trial of patience. It’s a fake thought of hope, life, and love. It’s a road to misery and, above all, feeling self-pity. The blaring of loud radios or the nonsensical loud talking of inmates.

It’s waiting on a guard to deliver mail from someone you hope does not forget. A memory you have from a loved one you will never forget. The fantasy of freedom you will forget. Prison is seeing the world slip by while your mind remains still. The reality in prison is waking up every day and discovering the food is cold and has no taste to it. Not to mention it has no smell!

Reality is being sick and no one cares. Reality is a shakedown by the goon squad who are on search and destroy missions. They always confiscate the smallest of things to destroy your comfort zone. It’s memorizing your prison number and forgetting you have a name. Cleaning your clothes when there’s no place to go. There is nothing more soul shattering than to wake up in a prison cage to get your day started. Each day you die a little sooner. Prison is a reminder of the loss of freedom by all of the things we take for granted. Such as missing your family, or sitting on your porch catching a cool breeze. Contrast this to smothering in a tiny cell with smoldering heat and humidity. It’s like the cell becomes a man’s little hell. In the world of iron cages, rules, prison numbers, lonely nights with no female companionship, will I ever be able to put this life behind me? Probably not. I’ll be cursed to a living death. The numbing, boring, crowded, noise, hate, the daily violence of prison. My mental and emotional faculties collapse at times, but they always come back to let me know the nightmare lives on.

Chapter 2
Is There a Solution?

Society will always need some kind of system of protecting itself against violent people. But only when necessary should men be put in prison. When the imprisonment of an individual is necessary for society’s protection the punishment should be shorter than the average length of sentence under the present system. Even then, imprisonment should still allow the prisoners to maintain their human dignity and self-respect. In order to accomplish this, I agree with getting rid of the indeterminate sentence system. The parole board should be abolished. This would eliminate much of the favoritism and abuse that the prison system presently follows. A fixed sentencing with time off for good behavior should be instituted. Although a fixed sentencing guideline is not perfect, it would avoid much of the confusion of the present system. Such as above and beyond the absence of due process of law and double jeopardy that results from frivolous court fines. Also the mental cruelty of uncertain lengthy sentences. In addition, the states’ big, isolated prisons should be replaced with smaller ones. These small prisons should be located in cities in the real world of the streets.

The isolation of prisoners must be avoided when possible. These small community prisons should concentrate their rehabilitation efforts primarily on job training and basic education. This way, when and if a man chooses and does finally decide to try and make it legally, he will have some job skills and qualifications for employment. With their size and location, these prisons will be more successful than the prisons of today. Prisons are protected from public scrutiny. There is a discrepancy between the image presented to the public and facts known to insiders. The prison system should be opened up to the view of outsiders. The public must know the reality behind those walls if valid criticism and ideas for change can be made.

Chapter 3
Mother

It always starts with mothers. Mine loved me very much. I pretended a lot early on with Mom about life, the things that were real and her fear for me of failing in life. My mom was born in Omaha, Nebraska. She was one of two children. She grew up poor and struggled, as most do. After her parents separated, she had to make the choice of where she was going to live—either with her father or her mother. She decided to go on her own. At this time she was only fifteen years old. She’d learn the struggle now! She met my father a few years later, after which I was born, on August 1st, 1954. She always wanted what was best for me. But it did not always turn out that way. I was one of eight children.

My dad was never around much so life was hard on us financially and emotionally. He was more of a street guy than a family provider. He was sent to prison and Mom was left with eight kids and no money. This led to some of my brothers and sisters getting separated by way of adoption. Myself, one of my brothers, Bill, and my sister, Debby, stayed with Mom. Mom did as good as she could under the circumstances. She would do whatever necessary to keep us fed and clothed. At one time she had to shoplift to provide for our needs. She’d steal shoes and food for us during real hard times.

Even as a youngster I led a double life. The one at home, and the one on the streets. Now and then I would get caught at something and Mom would be all over me to do the right thing. I ran away a few times but would always return home soon. I kind of did what I wanted. When it came time to explain, I usually lied.

We lived in Long Beach, California at one time. I loved it out there, but Mom got homesick for Omaha so we moved back. I think my trouble started then. I was caught for a couple of small, petty crimes. The police talked bad to me and Mom would come down to the station and pick me up. No matter what the case, Mom was always there for me. I know I shamed her at times, but she never let it be known. I was locked up at a youth center when I was twelve years old. I spent a couple of months locked down. I know this was hard on her. The first time I was locked up it felt like I was smothering to death. Just being caged in a cell took some getting used to. There were no beatings—not for me, anyway. The food was good. I ended up handling the situation okay.

When given an order, I’d just play like I didn’t hear or ignore them. Sometimes I’d get lost in a book. After a couple of months the courts released me to the custody of my mom. She took me back home. Sometimes I could not believe she did, because of my ways. She was and still is a great woman. Especially for tolerating me. My deepest sympathy goes out to my mom. I love my mom dearly for many reasons. I used to think she was hard on me. But after learning everything through trial and error, this opened my eyes on how wrong I was, and it made me feel guilty. All of this I now understand and can accept. Mother, when I consider our experiences bought at the cost of these terrible years, supplemented in love and concern by your experience and learning, I know now I was radically wrong in my thinking. I hope I have not failed you, Mom.

The things you used to teach me about! They are in my mind and heart. I am not too manly to say that I love you with a dedication that will grow forever. I love you very much, Mom.

Enjoyed this Excerpt?

OR

Also available in a Spanish translation

If you enjoyed reading, consider supporting our Free Library.
Your support helps keep voices heard.